A Poem About Spaces

A Poem about Spaces

Part 1: Open Spaces

In the moment you approach a curve,
decide on the potential of running off
the road, or the slant of your body
as you take the turn perfectly –

typically, you take the turn
and are rewarded by a new view,
an open field perhaps, or a bright blue ocean.

I encourage you to say ok to those thoughts
where you drive off the cliff, throw yourself –
and often others – onto the subway tracks;
say ok but then dismiss them,

like the advice of a friend
who wasn’t even listening
to what they are responding to.

My advice: trust open spaces,
you have more time to prepare
for what is sneaking up
behind you.

Part 2: Personal Space

Do not,
under any circumstance,
invade this part of me.

There is an aura, it is four inches
surrounding every boundary
of my flesh –

don’t convert this space
to dangerous.

The borders of my heart
will burst for you –
I have the biggest heart – it plays
wild beats

when my brain
conjures up your face.
I said do not,

not under any circumstance.

Part 3: Public Space

I recall a tale of a monster who,
if not looked upon by your eyes,
would not see you.

Meaning, if I shield my eyes
the monster cannot see me,
and therefore cannot eat me.

When I leave my apartment
I shield my eyes;
when I wait on lines
I shield my eyes;

when I walk
and fall, I shield my eyes.

Part 4: Outer Space

I remember floating in my mother,
a distinct sensation of the gentle current
made by her walking away
from my father.

At first, there was no universe
except for her. And then, it grew;
the universe expanded so much,
its belly grew so fast

and it bore such tales and lore.
I was enraptured by every shining object
until the age of five.

But I learned very quickly
that there are many universes,

and some are dark,
and some have a current
that will carry you away from her,
some want to drown you completely,
to silence you utterly.

I was never afraid of space,
only that which existed in the spaces
between two people, especially when one
is a black hole and wants nothing more
than to consume.

Epilogue: Interstice

Space often has vacancy.
Everything matters. Everything is matter.
I don’t know the scientific method,
I know feelings.

I can feel
with my bare hands
that there is nothing
in this space between you and I.

But when I read the vibrations
of the world, of the faces giving off sounds,
of the feet stomping on grounds,
of everyone fucking breathing –

when I read the spaces between words,
there is a universe just there, just in that
impossibly small space.

I often live there, where there is a vacancy:
in an expression, in a limp gesture,
in an empty house, with nothing but space.